Kiss of the Dragon
by Mireille DeMaupassant
Summary: I'm crap at writing these things...Harry's got a secret. He's found love and its name is The Dragon. But little does he know, the Dragon has a secret of his own...Please read and review, and to all the people who already have, thank you so much!
1. Prologue

**Rated R:** for adult content, adult themes, adult language, nudity, sexual content, lemony goodness, and male/male action. No one under seventeen permitted without a parent.(Just Kidding)

Disclaimer: As much as I'd like to, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters...but if I did, who knows what kind of naughty things I'd make him do...tee-hee!

"Five minutes, Dragon!" a voice called from outside the dressing room door. Draco stood in front of his full-length mirror, not showing any sign of having heard the time notice. His heart pounded in his chest as he examined himself in his outfit. He had been dancing at Club Venom for six weeks, now, but he still got extremely nervous before he got on stage.

He studied himself carefully, making sure every part of his leather ensemble was just right, from the leather pants he wore just low enough on his hips to give everyone a peek at the black thong he wore under them to the enchanted rhinestones shining across his bare chest, in the shape of his favorite dragon, the Indian Sky Serpent. He grabbed the leather vest and mask hanging over the top of the mirror and put them both on. _Perfect, _he thought to himself, looking at the finished image. _And now for the final touch._ He walked to his large chestnut dresser and picked up the wand that sat atop it. Then, pointing it to his head, he muttered, "_Capillus Inficere._" A light tingle engulfed the entire top of his head as his hair darkened and began to shrink back into his head. When the tingling lifted, his hair was short, black, and spiky.

"You're on in one minute, Dragon," called the same voice. After a quick second glance in his mirror, he pulled his dressing room door open and walked out into the backstage area. His friend, who also happened to be the club announcer, Geoffrey Tolk, immediately greeted him.

"Lot's of fine men out there tonight," he said with a broad grin. "Are you ready Draco- I mean, Dragon?" Unable to speak, Draco simply nodded. "Don't worry," Geoffrey said, tuning in to Draco's anxiety, "you're going to blow them away."

"If you say so, Geoffrey" Draco said, finding his voice.

With a quick pat on the back, Geoffrey left him. Draco took his place behind the red curtain. "GENTLEMEN," he heard Geoffrey's magnified voice say, "THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR HAS ARRIVED! PLEASE, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR...THE DRAGON!"

As soon as he the curtain rose, all feelings of doubt and anxiety left him. His eyes skimmed over some of the faces in the crowd. Geoffrey was right; there were some very handsome men out there. But none of them were the one he was looking for. There was only one person he wanted and that person wasn't there. He heard the opening notes of his song, "I'm Yours" by Celestina Warbeck, and his troubles left him. The spotlight hit him and the dragon within him was released. At once, he closed his eyes and his body began to move.

It started with his hips. He moved them very slowly at first,- as the song began slowly- mimicking the graceful movements of the Sky Serpent. As the music began to pick up speed, his dancing followed. His hands traveled up and down his body, as the image of the one he wanted to be there- the one he wanted to be watching him- came into his mind. Oh, how he wished it were _his_ body his hands were running over, instead of his own; _his_ clothes he were stripping off.

Completely lost in thoughts of the one he loved, Draco allowed his dance moves to become more explicit. He touched himself more liberally, letting his fingers linger over certain tender spots, reveling in the pleasure his hands brought him. As he peeled the last article of clothing off of his body, he pictured his love doing it instead. Suddenly, he became rather aware of the appendage hanging between his legs. Luckily, the music ended and he was able to stop himself, before he went over the edge right there on the stage.

After the song had died, his senses returned and he realized he was being showered with applause. He picked his clothes up off of the stage floor and took a bow before he went backstage.

One of the stagehands was waiting for him, behind the curtain, with a long, black, silk robe. He took it, put it on, and walked to his dressing room. Geoffrey caught up with him and followed him in.

"Oh my God, Draco!" he exclaimed as Draco sank into his armchair, "You are unbelievable! The crowd loves you!" Draco smiled, halfheartedly. "I don't know what goes through your mind when you're out there, but whatever it is, it works."

"Thanks," Draco said, quietly.

"I mean, when you're on stage," Geoffrey went on, "you get this look. You're so focused...so...passionate. Look, I have to get going. I have to announce another set but, I'll catch up with you afterward and we'll catch a late dinner." He glanced at his watch. "A really late dinner."

Draco nodded. "Yeah." Without another word, Geoffrey left the dressing room, closing the door behind him. Draco took the mask off and ran his fingers through his hair. "God," he whispered, "the things you do to me, Potter."

AN: So there it was, the prologue to my first slash fic. If you like it, leave a review. If you didn't...leave one anyway.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Please refer to prologue.

**Chapter 1**

Draco struggled to stay awake as Professor Snape demonstrated the proper way to chop mangrove roots. He had gotten back to the castle, only a few hours ago, at the crack of dawn. Then, instead of going to sleep, he sat in the Slytherin common room and started his Potions essay on Insanity Solutions, finishing it just as the first bell rang.

That was how every one of his weekends had been since school started. Getting to and coming from Club Venom had been much easier over the summer holidays. His parents had been too busy to notice whether he was there or not, so he was free to come and go as he pleased. Now that he was back in school, he was almost constantly being watched, forcing him to resort to sneaking in and out of school every weekend. This wouldn't have been a problem for him if it weren't for the mountains of homework he was assigned every week. He had thought, many times, about quitting for the school year and starting again during the holidays, but the hold Club Venom had on him was too strong. He just couldn't keep away.

"I will now be passing back your essays from last week," Snape said. "Some of them were worthy of praise. Othersmade me question whether some of you even belong in my N.E.W.T class." He approached Draco's seat with a scowl. "Not up to your usual standard, Mr. Malfoy," he said, quietly, as he placed the piece of parchment in front of the exhausted seventeen year old. Draco looked to the top of the paper and saw a large, spiky, P. "I hope," Snape continued, "that your essay on Insanity Solutions won't be as disappointing." The professor left him without another word.

A heavy sinking feeling began to develop in the pit of Draco's stomach as he thought about the essay he had turned into Snape at the beginning of class. He knew it was probably just as bad, if not worse. The sinking feeling intensified when he looked up and saw that Snape had put the instructions to make their next potion on the chalkboard. A Draught of Remembrance; one of the most difficult potions they'd be making that year.

"I expect you all to get it as close to perfectly as possible," Snape said from the front of the dungeon classroom, "since we discussed Draughts of Remembrance just last week."

Draco sighed heavily. _Like I'm going to remember anything from last week,_ he thought to himself, bitterly, as he pulled the necessary ingredients out of his school bag and placed them on the table, next to his cauldron.

---------------

"You're what?" Hermione shouted, her eyes wide with shock.

Harry quickly jumped out of his favorite armchair and put a hand over her mouth. "Hermione," he whispered, "quiet down or you'll wake everyone." He had asked her to meet him in the common room, that night, because he was sure she would understand. Now he was beginning to see an error in his judgment. "I asked _you_ to meet me here, instead of Ron, because I thought I could confide in you with this. Please, don't prove me wrong."

He watched her take a deep breath and then nod her head, letting him know it was safe to remove his hand. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, more quietly this time. "It's just so shocking. You are the last I'd ever expect to be..."

The weary wizard boy fell back into the armchair, running his hands through his unruly black locks. "I know," he said, softly, "I didn't see it coming either."

There was a moment of silence. "When...did you know?" Hermione asked, breaking it.

Harry sighed. "I guess...I always knew," he answered, "but I didn't realize it until this summer."

"But, Harry," Hermione said, suddenly, "what about all that stuff with...with Cho in fifth year and that Hufflepuff girl last year-what was her name?"

"Hannah," he replied, "Hannah Abbot. I never really did have a thing for Cho. I just felt sorry for her because of Cedric and all."

"And Hannah?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I did like her, but not in that way."

All that came from Hermione was a soft, "Wow..."

Harry didn't reply to it, though. His mind began to wander back to his birthday, not even two months ago. He, Hermione, the Weasleys, and the rest of the Order had, once again, been at Grimmauld Place celebrating. Fred and George had cornered him in the kitchen.

"Don't go right to sleep after the party," Fred had said. "We've got another party planned for you, later tonight."

"Oh, and bring your invisibility cloak," George had added.

Having no idea what they were up to, Harry could do nothing but follow their instructions. At around midnight that night, they apparated into his and Ron's bedroom. Ron, being the heavy sleeper that he was, didn't even stir. Then, the three of them apparated to Knockturn Alley. They all huddled under Harry's cloak while they walked down the shady lane. Ten minutes later, they were turning in to a small dilapidated looking building. "What are we doing here?" he had asked the twins.

"You'll see soon enough," George had told him, "but for now..."

"Just follow the big boys," Fred had finished.

Once inside the building, the three boys threw off the invisibility cloak. Harry could immediately tell the building had been bewitched to look smaller on the outside, as the room they were now standing in, though dark, looked like it could fit at least two of what he had seen outside. Before he could get a chance to examine it more closely, a tall, muscular wizard in a long black cloak apparated in front of them.

"Bruno!" Fred had said, upon the wizard's arrival. "How are you, old chap?"

The wizard pulled his hood down- revealing a hair free head- and smiled. "Fred," he had said, happily, "George! How wonderful to see you again! And you've brought a friend." He had turned to Harry and bowed. "Welcome to Club Venom!"

"Club Venom?" Harry had said, "I've never heard-"

But George had cut him off. "Today is our dear friend's birthday," he had said, "and we'd like to make it special for him."

"Well, then you've come to the right place," Bruno had answered.

Before Harry could ask the twins anything else, he found himself being pushed down a long corridor. When they had finally stopped, he was in a different room. One that was dimly lit with a stage in the front. Scattered around the room were several tables, most of them filled. Fred and George had led him away from Bruno and brought him to the table nearest to the stage. As soon as they sat down, a man came on wearing a black velvet suit. Suddenly, loud music came on and the man began to dance. Harry had looked, wide eyed, at the twins.

"Fred, George," he had said, in shock, "is this a..." The identical red heads nodded, simultaneously. "So, does that mean you know I'm..." They nodded again. "How?" Harry asked, quietly.

"Well, it takes one to know one," Fred had answered, nonchalantly.

"But, I suppose it would be 'it takes two' in this case." George had added.

Harry had had no idea what they were talking about. Then, it struck him. He gasped. "Are you two..." They nodded a third time, grinning ear to ear. "But...not with each other, right?"

"No!" George had shouted. "Good God, Harry!"

"Sorry," Harry had said, quickly, "I was just checking." From that moment on, the three of them had spent the duration of their visit drinking, laughing, and watching men dance and strip. At about half past four, they had decided that it was time to go. So, slightly wobbling, the trio had left their table and proceeded to the exit. It was then that Harry had seen him.

An announcer had come out onto the stage and announced that a dancer called "The Dragon" was going to dance next. Then, the curtain lifted and Harry found himself staring at a tall, slender male, with spiky black hair. He had wearing a silk black shirt- left unbuttoned-, a pair of black leather pants, and a mask through which Harry had only seen a pair of steely silver eyes. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Fred and George had decided to pull him away. Though he had only seen "The Dragon" briefly, what he had seen had been enough to keep him awake for the rest of that night and give him the most pleasurable of dreams every night afterward.

Harry's reminiscing was brought to a halt when he heard Hermione's voice, again. "Harry," she called, quietly

"Yeah?" Harry replied.

"Does anyone else know?"

With a slight grin, Harry nodded and said, "Fred and George."

Another long silence followed. "God," Hermione said, finally, "how are we going to tell Ron?"

AN: As you can see, I've added Harry's point of view too.I was going to make it just Draco's but then I realized it wouldn't be as fun. Reviews would be greatly appreciated but, no pressure.

By the way,anyone whodidn't get that I was implying that Harry was gay...please give yourselves a swirlee.


	3. Chapter 1 and a half

**Rated R:** for all the stuff I said earlier in the story.

**Chapter 1.5**

Harry awoke early the next morning as he always did: drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. "Dreaming about those dragons again?" Ron asked him as he sat down to have breakfast.

"Huh," Harry said, obliviously

"This morning you were muttering about dragons in your sleep again. I think you were moaning, too."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, reaching for a piece of toast. "it was the dragons again. They were, er, making me tap dance."

Ron chuckled. "You've been having these dreams for a long time, mate," he said. "I'm starting to think you should get yourself checked out."

"Nah," Harry replied, "I think it's just a phase I'm going through. Nothing to worry about."

"Whatever you say."

Harry was quite relieved when Ron turned to speak to Seamus. He knew he hadn't dreamed about dragons last night, in the sense that Ron was speaking of, and he was in no mood to discuss it.

Over the hustle and bustle of the steadily crowding Great Hall, angry footsteps could be heard approaching the table. Harry turned around to find Hermione walking quickly towards the Gryffindor table with a large sack. She seemed to be having trouble carrying it but Harry soon saw that that was probably due to the fact that it was wriggling uncontrollably. As soon as she reached the table, she slammed the sack down onto it, sending several plates and goblets clattering to the stone floor. Harry was just about to ask her what was wrong when she turned to Ron and gave him a smack across the back of his head.

"Ouch, Hermione!" he exclaimed, turning around to face her. "What was that for?"

"That," she said, her nostrils flaring dangerously, "was for the 'present' you left in my bed."

A look of realization came to his face but it was quickly followed by one of innocence. "I don't have the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" Hermione asked, her face growing a darker shade of red each second. "Maybe this will jog your memory." She turned to the sack and opened it. Immediately after doing so, a small pile of medium sized stones with arms and legs leapt out of it, onto the table.

"Oh," he said as if he had just realized what she was talking about (though, it wasn't very believable as he seemed to be stifling back a fit of laughter at the same time), "that present." As soon as the words left his lips, he and Seamus, who had been watching, simultaneously burst into fits. Hermione, in a spasm of fury, leapt at Ron and reached for his throat. In seconds, they were both on the floor. "Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said, still laughing but blocking Hermione's blows at the same time, "it was just a joke. It's not like you got hurt or anything."

Not too long afterward, a crowd began to form around them. People from all of the house tables were pushing and shoving to catch a glimpse of them. Harry took this as an opportunity to get an early start to his first class. He had already seen so many displays like this one since the term had started that he was quite used to them. It seemed that since his elder brothers' departure, Ron had taken it upon himself to continue their legacy and his favorite target was Hermione.

Five minutes after leaving the Great Hall, Harry was approaching the door to Greenhouse four. The bell rang at that moment and, seconds later, he began to see a crowd of his classmates coming toward him.

Harry tried hard to listen carefully to Professor Sprout as she explained what not to do when handling _mimbulus mimbletonia_ but every so often, he found his mind drifting back to the dream he had the night before.

He had been sitting in the middle of a dark room, on a metal chair. As in all of his dreams, "A Little Slice of Paradise," (the song he had first heard The Dragon dance to) was playing somewhere far off in the background. Then the Dragon appeared and he suddenly found his arms bound behind the back of the chair. The music grew louder and a spotlight was placed on the two of them. Dressed in all back leather, with a mask, and armed with a long whip, The Dragon approached him and began to dance.

"_I've got a little slice_

_A little slice of paradise_

_So come and take a bite_

'_Cause I'm saving it just for you...(you...you...you),"_ the song went. The Dragon of his dreams twisted and turned, cracking his whip sporadically, throughout the dance. It wasn't long before some of his clothes began to come off.

"_Let me tempt you_

_Let me tease you out of that mind_

_That troubled soul of yours_

_Have a taste, know what it feels like,"_

Watching his mystery lover dance both aroused and frustrated Harry, even in his dreams. He was dancing just close enough close enough for Harry to touch him but, his hands were still tied around the back of the chair, and his fingers were itching with the desire to touch.

_Oh, how I want to taste you, Dragon, _Harry thought, still lost in the memory of the dream, _how I want to run my tongue all over your smooth white skin and wrap my arms around your slender..._

"Harry!" Ron's voice called, from beside him, wrenching him from his musings. His head jerked up from where it had been laying on the table and turned to Ron.

"What?" he asked, a hint of bitterness lining his tone

"You were _moaning_, that's what." Ron replied, with a broad grin.

Harry immediately felt the all the blood in his face rush to his cheeks. "Uh, that was...er...I mean to say...I was..."

"Don't even bother, mate," Ron said, "who is she?"

**Feech's Note:** Okay so I made a serious error when I first started writing this story. I wanted it to be all about Draco but it has become apparent, to me anyway, that it's really about Harry. I'll still switch between their points of view like I planned to; I just didn't want it to be mostly Harry's pov when the story is supposedly about Draco. Well, now that I've gotten that all straightened out, I'm writer's block free and chapter "two" can be expected shortly. Maybe even early next week, if MCAS doesn't kill me. Peaches!


	4. chapter two

**Chapter 2**

_Please, God, let the bell ring,_ Draco thought desperately as he glanced at his watch for the third time in ten minutes. It was his last lesson of the day and lucky him, it had to be History of Magic. He scraped his fingernails across the old desk as he attempted to listen to Professor Binns' unremitting blather but, his mind continued to drift away to Club Venom, where he really wanted to be.

So many things had gone wrong that week and he just needed to get away. And the longer he sat in that musty old classroom, the more his mind drifted to the stage that he so longed to be on. He check his watch again. _Twelve more minutes,_ he thought, painfully. It seemed like an eternity.

He lay his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. Immediately, he saw the red curtain he had become so used to. Slowly, it rose until he had a full view of the audience sitting in front of him, all of them faceless, except for one. Bright green eyes, that seemed to outshine the spotlight, stared up at him intently. A pink tongue peeked out from in between two plump lips, gliding across the lower one. Draco licked his own lips as he thought of his love doing the same, letting the breath he was holding out very slowly. All of a sudden, he realized where his thoughts were taking him, and that it was not a place he wanted to be going, in his History of Magic classroom. So very reluctantly, he opened his eyes and pulled his head off the desk.

Out of habit, he checked his watch again. Only three minutes had passed.

-o-

"Is it that Hufflepuff girl?" Ron asked, hopefully as he and Harry entered their Transfiguration classroom. "What was her name?" Harry, paying no attention to him, took a seat at the back of the classroom. It had been this way throughout the entire day. Every chance he got, Ron would commence with pestering him about who it was that he fancied. At first it was funny; Ron guessed all the girls' names he could think of while he, Harry, secretly laughed at him, knowing that it wasn't a girl that was on his mind. Now, Harry was beginning to become deeply aggravated.

Ron took the seat next to him. "Come on Harry, you remember," Ron continued, "the one you went out with last year." He put his finger to his chin and screwed up is face in contemplation, "Abbot!" he exclaimed, struck with realization, "Hannah Abbot! Is it her, because if it is, you know, I don't blame you. She's definitely grown up some since last year and-"

"It isn't Hannah," Harry said, flatly, putting an end to his best friend's rambling.

Luckily, just as Ron opened his mouth, Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. "Good afternoon, class," the stern looking witch said as she took her place in front of her desk. "We have a lot to get done today so I'll waste no time. Separate yourselves into pairs and I will hand out the ferrets." She went to a stack of cages sitting on the side of her desk. "Remember," she said as she bent to open the first one, "you will be taking turns transfiguring the ferrets into wooden swords. _Wooden_," she repeated, casting a harsh look over the class. "If I see a single glint of silver, you will all have a month's worth of detention. I can't tell you how many students I've had to send to Madame Pomfrey because of their idiocy."

The rest of Professor McGonagall's speech was drowned out by the sound of chairs scraping and people moving about the classroom. Harry quickly scanned the classroom for anyone without a partner. This was the first time, in over six years of friendship, that he'd actually _wanted_ to be partners with someone other than Ron. Unfortunately, the rest of the classed had paired off and they were the only two left without partners. Harry looked over at Ron.

"I've got it!" Ron said, grinning broadly, "It's Parvati, isn't it!" Harry groaned loudly.

He would have to endure an hour and a half's worth of his best friend's spontaneous guesses at who his infatuation was with. When bell signaling the end of class finally rang, he quickly shoved his books into his bag and rushed out of the classroom, to the Great Hall, for dinner. Unfortunately for him, Ron caught up with him as soon as he put his things down under the table, a fresh batch of girls' names in his mouth. "Is it, Eloise Midgen?" he asked.

Harry looked at Ron incredulously. "What?"

"Well, I don't know. She did manage to fix her nose up and she's not that bad looking now."

Harry could feel his blood begin to boil. He took deep breath. "No," he said calmly, hoping it would put an end to Ron's guessing. "It isn't Eloise. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd stop guessing because you're really starting to get on my-"

No such luck. Ron interrupted him with another guess. "It's Luna, isn't it!" he exclaimed. "Luna Lovegood!"

Something in Harry snapped. He slammed his fist onto the table, knocking over several goblets. "You're never going to guess it, Ron," he shouted.

"And why not?" Ron shouted back. "I know every girl at this school!"

Finally, before he could even think about it, the words Harry had been longing to shut Ron up with came spilling out of his mouth. "Because it isn't a girl!" At that moment, the entire Great Hall fell silent. Seeing the look Ron was giving him, Harry immediately regretted his words. "Ron," he said, reaching out to put his hand on his best friend's shoulder. "I-"

But Ron shook the hand off. He opened his mouth to speak but had no words to say so, in lieu, he turned and left the Great Hall. Harry watched him until he disappeared through the doors. He groaned in frustration before dropping himself heavily on the bench.

Not long afterward, he heard Hermione's voice, calling him. He turned to see her rushing into the Hall. "Harry, what happened?" she asked, breathlessly. "I just saw Ron and he didn't look too good."

"You know that secret I told you a while back?" Harry said. Hermione nodded. "Well, let's just say we don't have to worry about telling Ron anymore."

**Feech's Note:**I know, I don't update mearly as often as I should but, if you think you can convince my teachers to stop assigning me stupid papers and crap so I can devote my life to writing Harry Potter fan fiction, be my guest. I'd love you forever. Anyway, for anyone that's wondering, Ron is not a homophobe! I just needed to add some stress causing conflict for later chapters. wink wink Peaches!


	5. chapter three

**Chapter 5**

_Everything's falling to pieces,_ Harry thought, dismally, as he lay in his four poster. Ron hadn't spoken to him at all since the incident in the Great hall. He didn't even look up when Harry had gotten to the common room, and when he entered the dormitory later that evening, he had simply undressed and gone to be, not giving Harry so much as a nod. So, having no other choice, Harry did the same. _Why did I have to open my big mouth, _he asked himself, angrily, _why did I have to let it all out, in front of everyone?_

_Well, if Ron wasn't being such an idiot,_ a voice from the back of his head countered, _you never would have exploded like that, so it wasn't entirely your fault._

Harry knew that the latter was true but, there was still a horrible feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He sighed and brought his hands up, resting them underneath his head. The events of that evening played over and over in his mind, each time looking and sounding more severe than the last. Was he really going to lose his best friend over something like this? Finally, he sighed. _I need to go somewhere to relax,_ he thought. Very slowly, a smile crept onto his face as his mind began to become filled with thoughts of his seventeenth birthday. If there was anywhere in the world he could go to relax, Club Venom was it. It was all a matter of getting there. _Hmm, _he mused, _how many ways are there to sneak out of the castle and to Knockturn Alley?_ He chuckled to himself as he began to count the ways. Of course, it was all really a joke to him, something to keep his mind off of the state of his and Ron's friendship. There were plenty of ways for him to get out of the castle, without going through the front doors (he had Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs to thank for that) but no way, that came to his mind, that could also get him anywhere near Knockturn Alley. Giving up on the matter, as it was only a silly musing, he turned over and closed his eyes. It was then--while he was waiting for sleep to come--that he was hit with a sudden realization.

He sat straight up in his bed. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He didn't even need a way to get to Club Venom. He was of age, he could apparate there! And since getting out of the castle was no great feat for him, there was nothing stopping him. But then something else hit him. There was nothing stopping him. Now that he knew he could leave the castle and got to the place he'd been dreaming about for so long, would he? Did he have the courage to actually take the steps he'd been wishing to take, since his birthday?

Harry absentmindedly bit his bottom lip as his eyes wandered to his trunk, sitting at the foot of his bed. He knew perfectly well that his invisibility cloak was sitting, neatly folded, at the bottom, waiting for him. He hadn't used it at all since the term started, and, knowing it would play a great role in his plans, he suddenly felt as if it were calling to him._ Well, it is Friday, _he thought, smirking slightly to himself, _so it isn't like I've got classes to go to in the morning._

-o-o-o-

The music was to come on any moment now, and Draco stood, poised behind the red curtain, ready to step out into the world he had come to love. Up until the moment he had stepped backstage, he felt as if he was a bomb with a lit fuse: ready to explode at any moment. His life seemed to be crumbling around him. His teachers were getting on his case about is rapidly diminishing grade average; there were starting to schedule meetings with him, after his lessons, to discuss possible reasons for it. That afternoon, he had gone to see Professor Snape, to discuss his lack of effort and dismal work. He thought it was going to be a very quick, five minute or so, conversation in which Snape would tell him that his work ethic needed to be improved and he would tell Snape that he was under a lot of pressure and would try harder to bring his work back up to par. Never once did it cross his mind that the man was going to go on for an hour about how he only chose the best for his N.E.W.T level classes and there was no room for failure to meet the requirements.

Looking back on it now, from where he was behind the red curtain, he laughed at the ordeal. Now, he found it quite amusing that the entire time Snape was speaking--Snape, whom he had regarded as a highly respected figure--the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted t tell the man to fuck off so he could hurry to his escape. It had all been so annoying, but then again, so was everything else that stood in the way of him that that stage.

When he had told the deejay what song he wanted to dance to that night, his response had been a look that screamed, "Are you sure _this_ is what you want?" But Draco felt that The Weird Sisters' "Attack" perfectly reflected his mood. The hard core, heavy metal, music was exactly what he needed. He needed to blow off some steam. He needed to attack, and The Weird Sisters would allow him to do just that. He was "The Dragon" after all, and, in addition to being stunningly beautiful, the Indian sky Serpent was vicious.

Finally, he heard the first chord of his song being struck and the curtain lifted. Then, before he could even move, his eyes fell upon another's, enchantingly green in color and seeming to shine above anything else in the darkness of the club. For a split second his body froze. He was here, sitting no more than ten feet away. _Snap out of it, Draco,_ he mentally chided himself, _you've got a job to do._ Immediately, he snapped back to reality. He threw himself forward, to the front of the stage. That night, he performed at his best. His movements, far from his usual smooth sensual motions, were rough and jerky. He jumped and twisted to the syncopated beats, throwing kicks and pelvic thrusts. Instead of stripping off his clothes, he practically tore each piece of the leather ensemble off of his body, tossing them in every direction. Every time he looked out into the crowd, he saw only one person: Harry Potter. The way he was dancing, the way he was touching himself, it was all for Harry. Nothing else in the world mattered as much as Harry did.

When he finished, he was naked--except for his mask--and exhausted. His body was coated with a thick layer of raw heat. As he left the stage, for his dressing room, he took a quick glance back at the audience. Harry's eyes were glued to him as he sat, motionless in his chair, mouth hanging slightly open, as if he was in shock. Draco smiled at him. Another job, well done.

-o-o-o-

Harry twiddled his thumbs nervously as he sat in a high-backed red armchair. He looked around at the furniture, which was all red. In addition to the armchair, there was a couch, and a wooden table that stood on a red oval shaped rug, and in the center of the room, was a pole that ran from the ceiling to the floor. _I guess "The Red Room" was no metaphor,_ he thought.

How he had gotten there was a complete blur to him. The last thing he remembered, clearly, was a slip of red parchment that had appeared on the table he was sitting at. He remembered that while he was watching the Dragon dance, he began to think about what would happen if he were ever to meet him alone somewhere. Then, the parchment appeared. "To," the parchment read, leaving an empty space after the word. "You have been summoned to the Red Room by one who would like to be known as…" and another space. Without even thinking, he took the parchment and filled out the appropriate forms, using the alias "Green Eyes" instead of his real name. Then, everything else was a blur of hallways and doors.

But one thing he could never forget, though, was the dance he had just witnessed, minutes ago. The way The Dragon had moved made him have to fight to keep himself from jumping onto the stage and tearing the dancer apart. Then, there was his body, the body that Harry had been dreaming about for so many months. Every inch of his fair skin radiated beauty, from the slender shape of his body, to the toned muscles of his abdomen, to the slight curve of his hips…

Harry began to feel a familiar stirring in his pants as he thought more about The Dragon's body. He knew it probably wasn't the best thing to be doing, now, when he was just about to meet with him, but he couldn't tear his mind away form the pictures streaming through his head. He closed his eyes and let himself enveloped in them, letting his tongue glide over his bottom lip and imagining it to be The Dragon's.

"Thinking about me?" a voice said from in front of him. Harry's eyes snapped open and he sat up in the chair, only to find the one he had been thinking about standing right there, in front of him, leaning against the pole. He was wearing a pair of silk pants that hung low enough on his hips to reveal that he wasn't wearing anything under them. His usual black mask sat on his face, hiding everything above his cheeks, except for his silver eyes, and his feet and chest were bare. Harry sat frozen in his seat as he stared up at the image of beauty before him. He wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out of his mouth, when he opened it, was a feeble squeak. He watched a smile creep across The Dragon's face. "I'll take that as a yes," he said. He took a couple of steps forward and knelt in front of Harry, resting his elbows on Harry's thighs and his chin in his palms. "So," he said, "Green Eyes, is it?"

Harry nodded. God, he was sitting so close to him, closer than he'd ever thought he could be. "Y-Yeah," he stuttered.

The Dragon chuckled. "You don't have to be nervous, you now," he whispered, "I'm not going to bite…not yet, anyway," he added with a smirk.

Harry let out a tense breath. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I just--"

"Shh," the Dragon said, cutting his words short, "let me help you…get comfortable." He put a hand on Harry's knee and hoisted himself up. Then, he swung a leg over Harry's and sat on his lap, straddling his thighs. Harry swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, but the Dragon was so close, he could smell the sweet scents coming off of him. He saw The Dragon's hand come up and stop at the very top button of his navy blue shirt. His head tilted to the side and he leaned in to Harry's neck. Harry's eyes fluttered shut when he felt the dancers warm, moist tongue slide up to his jaw, where The Dragon placed a soft kiss. The kisses continued to Harry's ear and a shiver ran through his body, making him moan out loud. Hot breath blew into his ear as The Dragon chuckled lightly. "are you stating to feel more…relaxed?" he asked, softly.

His voice was so smooth, so seductive, that Harry was having a very hard time containing himself. "Mm-hmm," harry replied, unable to get anything else out of his mouth.

"Good," The Dragon whispered.

"Harry felt a tug at the collar of his shirt. He opened his eyes to find The Dragon's slender fingers working at the button. When it came free, he moved on tot he next.

"So," The Dragon continued, "do you have a name, Green Eyes?"

"Mm-hmm," Harry said, again. "H-Harry."

"Mmm, Harry?" The Dragon asked as he undid the very last button. "As in Harry Potter."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Yes," he answered, nervously, "but please don't--"

"Don't worry," The Dragon said, anticipating Harry's words. "Your secret is safe with me." Harry let out a sigh of relief. "So, Harry, is this your first time at Club Venom?"

Harry shook his head. "I-I was here once before," he answered. "On…" He felt The Dragon place a finger on his collar bone and drag it, slowly, down and across his chest, making random patterns across his skin. His grip on the chair tightened and he moaned again. "on my birthday, a couple months ago," he finished.

"But you've never been in the Red Room, before, have you?" Harry shook his head, again. "Well, there are some things you need to know before we can have so real fun." His hand traced down his chest and stomach, landing on the top of his belt buckle. He didn't hesitate to unfasten it and move on to Harry's pants. "Okay?"

"Mm-hmm," Harry moaned. He felt The Dragon's hand slide, slowly, into the into his pants and past the elastic waistband of his boxers. Knowing what was about to come next, his grip on the arms of the chair tightened so much that he felt his fingers would soon break.

"There are only two rules in the Red Room," The Dragon continued, his hand moving tantalizingly slowly down to the point of Harry's arousal. "but they're two _very_ important rules. Do you follow?" Harry nodded, trying hard to focus more on what The Dragon was saying than what his hands were doing. "The first rule is the 'no touching' rule." It was that moment that he chose to let his hand fall upon Harry's member. Not expecting the sudden contact, Harry gasped and his body jerked. The Dragon chuckled lightly. "Did I surprise you, Harry?" Harry nodded slowly. The Dragon gently pulled it out of his pants and began to move his hand back and forth across it, very slowly. At the same time, he continued to speak. "The 'no touching' rule is very simple," he said.

It was torture. The slow pace at which The Dragon was stroking him gave Harry the impression that he was doing it almost absentmindedly but, at the same time, told him he was doing it that way deliberately. It was as if he, The Dragon, knew that with each unhurried movement, more and more tension built up inside of Harry, tension that was begging to be released. And on top of that, he still needed to focus on what The Dragon was telling him.

"I can touch you," The Dragon said, "as much as I want, in any way I want."

_Of course,_ Harry thought.

The Dragon's Grip on Harry's member became more firm, but his speed remained the same. "But you can only touch me when I give you permission." Harry let his head fall back and lifted his hips a little. He had heard what The Dragon had said, but only just barely, for in his mind, he was begging for the dancer's tormenting hand to move faster. "Do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry moaned, in response.

"Good." Finally, The Dragon's hand began to pick up speed, but only just slightly. Unfortunately, this proved to be even more of a torture than before. He was so close to where he wanted to bee. If only The Dragon would move just a little faster. "Now the second rule is the most important of the two. Harry moaned. It was getting harder to keep his attention off of what was going on in his pants. "We can touch," The Dragon said, "we can kiss, we can…lick…suck…rub…" Harry's eyes fluttered shut as each murmured word brought an enticing image to his mind. He pressed his shoulders to the back of the chair and arched his back, willing The Dragon to go further, uttering a moan of pleasure. "but under no circumstances can it ever go further than that. Got that, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry moaned, thinking the Dragon was going to go further. But, all at once, The Dragon's hand left Harry's erection. Harry opened his eyes and saw him smirking smugly at him.

"Good," he said, "because our time is up."

"What?" Harry asked, in disbelief. "But…"

"I know," The Dragon said, still smirking. "Are you not completely…satisfied?" Harry hesitated a bit, before shaking his head. The Dragon's smile broadened. "Good. That's all the more reason for you to come back." Harry finally understood. The Dragon was not only extremely good looking, but quite intelligent, too. He brought his lips to Harry's ear. "You are coming back, right?"

Harry thought for a moment. It had never occurred to him to return to Club Venom. Could he manage to sneak away, unnoticed, again? What if this time had been a fluke? Suddenly, he felt something warm and wet dip into his ear.

"I promise I won't…leave you hanging, next time," The Dragon whispered.

That was motivation enough for him. "When do you want me to come back?"

The Dragon chuckled. "Next week," he replied. "I'll be waiting."

**Feech Notes:** Alright well, now that that's over and done with...happy dance! I am so happy I fianlly get to update again! Now the bad news...I'm about halfway done with chapter six but (DUN DUN DUH!) I've got finals coming up so, expect a few delays. Not as bad as before but still. If I can, I'm gonna try to get it done before my finals start next thursday, so be sure to bug me and bother me until I do, kay! Peaches, sweeties!


	6. chapter four

**Feech Note:** Yay! For the first time in my life, I was actually able to stick to my word and have something done on time. I had some issues with writing part of this chapter (I wasn't having fun writing it and I think it shows in my writing.) Anyhoo, all that matters to me is that the chapter is done so, enjoy! Peaches, sweeties!

**Chapter 4**

It was almost dawn when Harry strolled into the Gryffindor common room Saturday morning, though his stay in the Red Room hadn't been very long. After his encounter with The Dragon, he stayed back in the main room and sat through several men's dance routines, hoping The Dragon would grace him once more with his presence. To his misfortune, his wishing had been in vain, as it seemed the one time he had seen The Dragon dance that night would be the last. So, still in a somewhat euphoric state, he made his way back tot eh castle.

When he took a seat in his favorite armchair, his body was still tingling in all the places The Dragon had touched, kissed, and licked. Images of what had happened in the Red Room were fresh on his mind, like fresh ink on a piece of parchment. In his head, he still could see The Dragon's masked face, so close to his own. He could still hear The Dragon's voice whispering into his ear, smell all of the sweet aromas that came off of him, feel The Dragon's hot breath blowing into his ear. He could still feel The Dragon's tongue dancing across his skin, and most importantly, Harry could still feel his soft, warm, hand moving back and forth over his arousal. The dancer had managed to entice all but two of his senses. And, ironically enough, they were the two that Harry was most anxious to experience: touch and taste. The goings on of that night could have been enough to keep another satisfied, but they weren't enough for him. Harry knew what he wanted from The Dragon, and he wasn't going to settle for less, though he could tell, from the way The Dragon had left him, that what he wanted wasn't going to be given up without a fight.

Harry sat back and mused over what he was going to do for the rest of the day, grateful for the fact that it was Saturday. Unfortunately, right in the middle of his thoughts of going to spend some time with Hagrid, it dawned upon him that he had scheduled the first quidditch practice of the season to be that day. It was his first act as captain of the Gryffindor team and he had already forgotten about it. Of course, he had gotten himself all worked up over Ron not speaking to him and then The Dragon, how could he possibly let anything as insignificant as quidditch enter his mind.

He sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face as he leaned back into the armchair. What he wanted was to be able to go back up to his dormitory and fall into his bed. _Maybe I should just postpone it until tomorrow,_ he thought, hopefully. But he knew that was out of the question. Postponing the practice for his own good was too Slytherin a move, and he wanted nothing to do with them. Besides, the first match of the season was in less than a month and there were three people in need of training before then: Ginny Weasley, who had taken up the position of Chaser, and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnagan, who were the new Gryffindor beaters. After savoring one last moment of comfort, Harry wrenched himself from the chair and headed up the wooden staircase that led to the boys' dormitories.

When he walked through the door, he was greeted by Seamus's voice. "Late night, Harry?" he asked, slyly, as he put on his quidditch gear.

Dean, who was standing right next to him, all suited up, chimed in, "Yeah," he said, "I don't remember hearing you come in, last night." The two boys snickered as Harry began to feel the heat of a flush crawl up his neck and in his cheeks.

"It's not what you think, guys," Harry lied, "I was—er, in the library, studying for…that exam in Snape's class."

Seamus looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "You were in the library?" he asked, "All night?" Harry nodded, though he knew the boys weren't buying his story. "Whatever, mate," Seamus said, finally but still somewhat skeptically, "See you at practice."

Harry sighed, quietly, as he watched the two boys walk out of the room._ You're going to have to be more careful, _he thought to himself,_ if you're going to keep this up._ A few moments later, he heard the sound of a door opening on the other side of the room. When he looked up, he saw Ron coming out of the Gryffindor shower room. His and Ron's eyes met for only a moment but, to him, it felt like an eternity. In that single instant, everything that was going on between him and his best friend came back to him. He was having a hard time believing Ron was going to throw away six years of friendship over something so trivial.

When Harry returned to reality, he realized that he had spaced out and was now staring at a door. His eyes went to the Ron's bed and he found him kneeling at his trunk, undoubtedly searching for his broom. So that was it, then? He was just going to ignore him. Harry began to feel himself getting angry. He wanted to say something. Anything. More quickly than Harry had wanted, it seemed Ron had retrieved all of his affects and was making his way to the door. He was losing his chance. _Ron, _he thought, _Ron_—

"Ron!" His utterance of the word had taken him by surprise. One moment he was thinking it, trying to will his friend to turn around, and the next it came spilling out of his mouth. Upon hearing it, Ron stopped and turned around, looking right at him. Harry stood frozen in his spot, still in shock over what he had just done. He stood for a long time, not sure what to say or do. It seemed to be too long a time for Ron because seconds later, he began to leave again. _No,_ he thought. "Ron, wait!" he said.

Ron, once again, stopped in his tracks and looked at Harry. "Are you actually going to say something this time," he asked, "because I have to get to practice."

Harry let out a heavy sigh. "We need to talk." There, he said it.

Ron was silent for a moment. A tense look came to his face and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to walk away again, but finally, his face relaxed and he sighed. "You're right," he said, quietly.

Harry sighed in relief. They were going to talk. There was hope of saving their friendship after all. He took a step towards Ron. Now the only problem was determining where to start. There was so much Harry wanted to say to him, he didn't know where to begin. Fortunately it seemed Ron did because, he began to speak.

"Look, Harry," the red head said, "I don't know if you care anymore but, I'm sorry. The way I acted yesterday was…"

"Inconsiderate?" Harry finished for him, letting his anger at Ron seep through him. "Hurtful? Down right stupid?" Ron hung his head and nodded, slowly. "You really hurt me, you know," Harry continued. "Just walking away like that, without a word. And then you wouldn't even speak to me afterward."

"I know, I—"

"You had me worried sick because I thought you were going to throw away our entire friendship over something I can't even control. It isn't my fault I'm gay and, had I known you had a problem with it, I would have never—"

"What?" Ron said, looking up quickly. "I don't have a problem with it."

Harry went silent. "You…you didn't?" He asked. Ron shook his head. "Then why did you…run away like that, yesterday?"

Ron sighed. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. When you said what you did yesterday…it…caught me by surprise. I've known you since I was eleven and all of a sudden, you're gay. It just wasn't something I had ever thought to expect."

"So, you ran." Ron nodded. "But," Harry continued, "what about all those times, yesterday, when you completely ignored me?"

"I was scared," Ron said. "I needed to talk to someone but, I didn't know who and I wanted to talk to you about it but, I didn't know what to say to you so, I just…didn't say anything at all."

Harry snorted. "A lot of good that did."

"I never said it was the smartest choice."

"That's for damn sure."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair. "So," he said, softly, "is there any chance of us putting this all behind us and…being friends again?"

Harry looked at Ron in silence, contemplating the matter at hand. Could he put the events of yesterday evening behind him? Ron's behavior had hurt him, and he had acted like just enough of a git for Harry to tell him everything was over. _But he apologized,_ a voice in the back of his head supplemented. _He asked for your forgiveness._ Finally, Harry opened his mouth to speak. "So, you don't have a problem with…"

Quickly catching on, Ron shook his head. "Not one," he replied. "Well, not unless you try to hit on me. Then, we're going to have some difficulties."

Harry smiled. "I can guaranty we'll have no problem there." He held his hand out. Ron returned his smile before taking the last few steps between them and shaking his hand. Yes, Harry thought, they were friends again. All was right with the world.

The two boys, having settled everything between them, walked through the castle and out to the quidditch pitch together, broomsticks slung over their shoulders. "So, who did you talk to, anyway? Fred and George?" Harry asked as they approached the grassy field, remembering something Ron had said earlier.

"What?" Ron asked.

"You said you needed to talk to someone after that whole fiasco, yesterday. Did you talk to Fred and George?"

"Fred and George?" Ron asked. "Why would I talk to Fred and George?"

Harry quickly realized he had said too much. "Oh, uh," he stammered, "n-no reason. I just—"

"Why would I have talked to Fred and George, Harry," Ron demanded.

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "I thought you knew about them."

"Knew about them," Ron said. "Knew what about them—" Harry saw Ron's eyes widen as it quickly clicked in his head. "You mean they're…?" Harry nodded. "That's disgusting!" Ron shouted. "They're brothers!"

Harry was confused for a moment. Then, he realized what conclusion Ron had come to. "Oh, Ron, no," he said, hastily. "Not with each other."

Ron sighed. "Oh," he said, "I thought you meant…"

"I know, Harry said, chuckling lightly. "That's what I thought when they told me. So, who did you talk to, then," he asked, remembering his question from earlier.

He saw Ron's ears go bright red. "Um…Ginny," he muttered.

"Oy! Harry!" Ginny Weasley's voice called, suddenly, from somewhere above them. Harry looked up and saw her—as well as other members of the Gryffindor House quidditch team, hovering in the air—on her broomstick. "Have you and Ron sorted everything out between yourselves, yet, because I got up at bloody five thirty _on a Saturday_ to practice and if I don't start seeing some practice soon, there's going to be hell to pay!"

Harry laughed. "It's alright, Ginny," he answered, "Ron and I are all set."

-o-o-o-

Practice that day was perfect. They did passing drills, went over old strategies, and even made up new ones. Seamus and Dean, now having proper training, seemed like pretty decent beaters and Ginny was an exceptional chaser. Unfortunately, at around eleven in the morning, the Slytherin team came marching onto the field, their captain—none other than the Slytherin Prince himself—brandishing a note, giving them permission to use the pitch for the rest of the afternoon, signed by Professor Snape. As Harry dismounted his broom, he was greeted with the usual smirks and sneers from the Slytherin team but, when his eyes fell upon Malfoy, he saw something else. Something other than his usual vainglorious leer. It was as if, behind the twisted grin, he was mocking Harry, in an "I know something you don't know" manner.

"What do you suppose Slytherin's chances of winning the Cup this year are?" Ron asked Harry later that evening, as they sat in front of the Gryffindor common room.

"Huh?" Harry said, obliviously. He was still thinking about the look Malfoy had given him. Did Malfoy really know something he didn't? Or was he just overreacting?

"Slytherin," Ron said, "what do you think their chances of winning the Cup are, this year? You know, now that Malfoy's captain."

"Oh, yeah, Malfoy?" Harry replied, still quite distracted by his thoughts, "uh, I don't know. Can't be any better than before."

"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked, picking up on Harry's strange behavior. "You seem a little bit out of it. Maybe you should…get some sleep?"

"No," Harry answered, "I'm fine. I just…I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "Positive."

"Good," Ron said, "we've still got to practice those Passion Hexes."

"You're right." Harry reached into the pocket of his robes, for his wand—but found nothing there. _What the…_ he thought, digging around the empty pocket, in search of the wand. _I could have sworn I put it in he_— "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, realizing where it could have been.

"What?" Ron said, "What happened?"

"My wand," Harry replied, feeling very frustrated. "I think I left my wand in the showers."

In a matter of minutes, Harry was racing across the quidditch pitch, to the shower house. Ron had offered to go with him but, he saw no need for it. He was only going to get his wand. Within seconds, he was pushing the swinging door, that led to the shower room, in. Immediately upon entering, he heard the sound of water running._ Oh, bugger,_ he thought, _must be a bloody Slytherin. Please don't let it be Malfoy._

Keeping close to the tiled walls, Harry searched the floors for the blasted piece of wood, hoping he wouldn't be discovered by whoever it was that was currently in the showers. Not long after the commencement of his search, he spotted it, laying in the middle of the floor. Without a second thought, he quickly ran over to it and extracted it from the stream of water it was currently sitting in. Suddenly, he heard some one gasp. On instinct, his head whipped up and he found himself looking up at a dripping wet, and completely naked, Draco Malfoy.

**Feech Note: **Oh the drama! Lol, yea I'm stil a complete spaz but you luv me anyway, right? looks up hopefully Tell me what you think about the chappie. Leave me a review! Peaches! P.S: Chapter seven or four coming soon!


	7. chapter five

**Chapter 4**

It seemed the day had chosen to never end, knowing that the Great Hall was the last place Draco wanted to be. His classes had been unbearable, each one longer than the last, and now he had only an hour of dinner to sit through before he could retreat to his dormitory, but, it was quickly turning into the longest hour of his life. Each minute felt like an eternity as he sat there at the Slytherin table, his leg bouncing impatiently on the ball of his foot, causing the rest of his body to shake slightly. His right hand twitched terribly as he tried to keep a firm grasp on the fork he was using to push around his uneaten food, twitching because the fork wasn't what Draco really wanted it to be wrapped around.

He hadn't been able to close his eyes once that day, after finding, the night before, that whenever he did, he was thrown into the memory of the night he had with "Green Eyes". All throughout his lessons of the day, he had forced himself to concentrate on things that would keep him from the folds of his imagination. He'd be damned if he didn't receive perfect marks on the potion he had concocted in Snape's class, he was sure he could confidently say he knew more about the druidess Cliodna than anyone in his year, having forced himself to take detailed notes on Binns' rambling. But, now that classes were over, things were different. The only thing he had to concentrate on was a plate of food, sitting in front of him, and it was already proving to be a very weak dam against the river of thoughts that plagued his mind. In the fourteen minutes that had past since he entered, his mind had slipped and allowed him a glimpse of an enticing image. He had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning, as the thought had sent a heat down to his nether region that fed the erection he was currently battling to keep sedated.

At the same time, behind all of the uncontrollable hormones, was the slightest bit of lingering anxiety, from the events of Saturday evening. It wasn't his fault the Gryffindor had decided to go strolling around the showers, while he had been in there. At first, the thought that Harry would recognize his body had crossed his mind, but he quickly put it to rest when he realized that it wasn't possible. The mask he wore as the Dragon did more than hide his face. Still, Draco had to admit, the encounter had given him quite a thrill.

He sighed heavily and looked down at his plate. _Hmm,_ he thought, _don't they ever serve anything other than roast beef? It seems like that's all we've been eating lately. The house elves are probably on strike._ He snorted. _God, this is pathetic! I've resorted to thinking about—_

"Draco," a voice snapped at him. He brought his head up to find Pansy Parkinson—as well as Crabbe and Goyle—staring at him. "Your incessant bouncing is shaking the table and, incase you haven't noticed, we are trying to eat."

"Oh," Draco replied, "I…I'm sorry. I hadn't realized—"

"Look, why don't you just do us all a favor and go to the bathroom already."

"What," Draco asked anxiously.

"I mean if you have to pee…"

"Huh? Oh, you mean…right. You're exactly right. I'll just be…" Before he finished the sentence, he left the table and was on his way down the aisle in between the house tables. As he walked by the Gryffindor table, he spotted Harry, laughing and joking with the mudblood and the weasel. The way he was concentrating on what the weasel was saying made it quite obvious to Draco that Harry knew he was walking by and that he was trying very hard not to look at him. Draco smirked to himself as he walked through the doors out to the corridor.

_Yes, _he thought as he traipsed aimlessly down the empty hallway,_ this is exactly what I need. A brisk walk to clear my head._ It wasn't five minutes before he realized how big a mistake he had made. He quickly found that the school corridors had even less to offer him as a distraction than the Great Hall. Each time he tried to think of something that wouldn't send him into a frenzy, he lost his train of thought and found himself right back to where he didn't want to be. The one thing he found himself more than able to keep his mind on, though, was each and every boys bathroom he passed. There seemed to have been many more than he remembered—but that could also have been because, in his…frustration, he failed to notice where he was going was actually treading the same corridors, over and over again. Every time he walked past one of the doors, he found himself thinking "What if…" but, before he even allowed himself to finish the thought, he told himself that what he was thinking of was beneath him and forced himself to walk away. Unfortunately, each time he gave himself a bogus reason, the need to satisfy himself only grew and, before long, he found himself unable to think of a reason good enough to stop himself. Finally, spotting another bathroom, he threw himself in, locked himself in a stall and leaned against the door.

His hands were at his robes immediately, fumbling over the fastenings out of desperation. God, why did his uniform have to be so complicated? When he finally got past those, he wasted no time in moving on to his pants. A small sound of triumph escaped him as he succeeded in getting the buttons and zipper undone. He reached into his silk boxers and pulled out his already erect member. Even the simple touch made him weak at the knees. His fingers immediately wrapped around it and he began to pump.

Suddenly, all of the thoughts he had forced himself to keep contained burst into his head and, at once, he was back in the Red Room. He saw Harry, felt his body underneath his. He pictured himself kissing him, and licking him all over…

_Oh, yes,_ he thought, _yes…oh, Harry…_

He remembered what it felt like to run his hands over his skin, up and down his cock…

_Oh, God…oh, Harry…yes…_

His mind replayed the sounds of Harry moans. Before he could stop himself, he imagined his own name in to it, knowing that this was what he wanted most. This brought him over the edge. Draco reached over his head and grabbed the top of the stall door. He gripped the door so tightly, he could feel his knuckles turning white. His teeth came down on his lower lip so ferociously, as he came, he was sure he tasted blood. But, his attempt to bite back his cry had been in vain as it managed to escape past his lips.

When it was all over, the world around him seemed unnaturally quiet. He leaned against the stall door in something of a stupor, his arms hanging limp at his sides. His breaths were slow and deep. A thin layer of sweat stuck his shirt to his chest. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip and found that it was soon met with the bitter taste of his own blood. In the Red Room, he thought he had been careful, only allowing a limited amount of physical contact between himself and Harry, but it seemed that even a little was too much for him. Now, his mind was heavy with dead as he thought about his next meeting with the Gryffindor, in only four days. The Dragon had made a promise that he was obligated to keep, and all Draco could do now was hope that he would have more control over his feelings by then.

It wasn't long before Draco realized he'd been out of the Great Hall far too long to return without being questioned. He quickly tucked himself back into his pants and fixed his clothes. Then, he threw a very thorough vanishing charm onto the tiled floor and made sure that none of the fluid residue of his orgasm remained. When he got to the sinks he saw that his appearance was atrocious. His hair was unkempt, his face was flushed, and the cut on his lip was much bigger than he thought it had been. He could fix his hair with a wave of his wand, but that was about all he could do. He would have to wait for his flush to go away on its own. As for the cut on his lip…his confidences in his healing charms were ever waning and he would much rather risk being questioned than try to fix it on his own and make it worse. After doing all he could—which didn't seem like much to him—he was still left with a feeling of inadequacy so, he washed his hands as well.

_Alright,_ he thought as he sped down the corridor,_ I need an excuse for being gone so long. I'll say I was sidetracked…but by what?_

_How about the overwhelming urge to—_

_No,_ he quickly countered,_ I can't be joking around. This is serious. I know. I'll say I was pulled into—_

But before he could finish his thought, his shin connected with something soft and heavy, pitching him, face first, to the stone floor. He landed sprawled on his stomach.

"Oh, my dear boy," a squeaky old voice said from behind him, "I'm so sorry about that!" Draco felt a pair of small hands grab his shoulders and attempt to lift him from his spot on the floor. He raised his head and saw the wrinkled face of his charms teacher floating above him.

"What?" he said, confusedly.

"Oh, my," Flitwick said, "you tripped over me while I was tying my shoe." He chuckled lightly. "I wish I could say it's the first time this has happened to me."

Draco groaned and, as soon as he got his wits about him, lifted himself off the floor. "Professor Flitwick," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't see you."

"It's alright, dear boy," Flitwick answered. "I don't blame you. I seem to disappear when I bend down too low." He chuckled again. "It's actually quite fortunate that I ran into you—or rather, you ran into me. I came out here looking for you."

"For me?" Draco asked.

Flitwick nodded. "Yes, I wanted to discuss your performance in my class lately." Draco clenched his teeth. _Not another one,_ he thought, exasperatedly. The charms teacher cleared his throat. "It seems you are having trouble concentrating, in class—"

_Tell me something I don't know._

"—so I have taken the liberty of finding you a…er…private study partner."

Draco did a double take. "You did what?" He couldn't believe it. All of his other teachers had been on his back about his schoolwork but, all they ever did was lecture him. None of them went so far as to get him a tutor. "Professor, you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious, Mr. Malfoy. I know the idea seems horrible—especially to one as proud as yourself—but I can assure you, it's not the end of the world. I'm sure if you give it a chance, you'll learn to like it." Draco stood and stared at Flitwick incredulously. "Now, I spoke to Mr. Potter earlier and—"

"Potter?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. I would have asked Miss Granger to do it but, she wants to go into the Ministry of Magic after Hogwarts and, well, she already has enough on her plate. Next to her, Mr. Potter seemed like the best candidate. Anyway, I spoke to him earlier and we decided that this Thursday at six o'clock would be the best time for your first sessions. I will leave my classroom unlocked for the two of you. The two of you can determine the rest then, but you should meet at least once a week."

"But Professor, you don't understand. I can't—"

"I know," Flitwick interrupted. "I am very aware of the rivalry between your houses but, I am hoping the two of you will use this opportunity to put all that behind you and be an example to the school. When you look at it closely, the only thing that makes you two so-called enemies is all of this House rivalry riffraff. I'm sure if you take that away, you two will get along fine."

"But—"

"I will have no more objections, Mr. Malfoy. My word is final. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a box of Pepper Imps waiting for me in my office that I am most anxious to get my hands on."

Flitwick turned, without another word and started down the corridor. Draco watched his charms teacher until he disappeared around the bend. It was then that he chose to release a groan of frustration.

_Brilliant, _he thought angrily as he made his way to the Great Hall, in the other direction, _bloody brilliant. You're a right bloody genius, Professor Flitwick. Now, not only do I have to see Potter in class and try not to think about shagging him, but I have to see him once a week for tutoring as well. All bloody thanks to you!_

As he entered the Great Hall, he turned his head and shot a malevolent look to the Gryffindor table but, found it being met by an emerald glare of the same intensity. He was momentarily thrown off by this, not being able to fathom the reason behind it. Then, it occurred to him that at school, he was Draco Malfoy; the one Harry held nothing but contempt for.

He looked away and continued to the Slytherin table. When he got there, he retook the seat he had left earlier. "Where there hell have you been," Pansy demanded as he sat down, "Dinner's nearly over."

"I met up with Flitwick on the way back from the bathroom," Draco answered, without looking at her, "and we…had a talk."

"What happened to your lip?" Crabbe asked.

Draco looked up at him. "I fell."

"On what—"

"I _fell_, Crabbe. That's all you need to know. Got it?" He looked around at the faces of the people sitting around him. "Does anyone else have anything to say to me?" His gaze fell upon Blaise, who he found to be eyeing him suspiciously. "Blaise?"

Blaise jumped and immediately looked down at his own plate. "N-no, Draco," he said, quietly, "there's nothing."

**Feech's Note:** I was afraid this would happen. With the release of the sixth book, some things have changed but, after some serious thought, I've decided not to let that affect my fics. (Well this one, at least.) I'm going to finish this one and "Falling" (no, I haven't forgotten about it) as if the sixth book didn't exist. So, having said that, on to the reviews! Peaches!


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